


three times you call it love

by carrythesky



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Probably way too much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:25:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7132472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrythesky/pseuds/carrythesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And the first time, the first time you give a name to this pressure within your chest - <br/>everything is red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	three times you call it love

iii.

The third time, everything is sunshine.

She is golden, bright, every good thing that has managed to survive in this crooked world, and when she laughs, you swear she could be the thing that keeps you from sliding into the shadows.

But you - you are everything that is broken, distorted, damaged, and no amount of laughter can change what you are.

(A Devil with the face of a saint.)

No matter its intentions, darkness cannot touch the light without consuming it, erasing it, and if you keep holding on, you know your hands will eventually destroy her.

( _You’re right, this city really needs heroes. but you’re not one of them_.)

She lets go first.

ii.

The second time, everything is inverted - she saves your life before she even knows your name, touches your bare skin long before your lips meet for the first time. ( _At least I got to see you with your shirt off again. So hey, it’s not all bad.)_

It scares you how easily you both could synchronize, fall into some sort of strange, harmonious rhythm. How this could be your normal. (The first time you consider putting the Devil to rest, you’re tracing her back with your fingertips, listening to the sound of her fractured bones creaking and groaning, and you wonder where your ministrations might lead if you weren’t so hell bent on becoming the man the Kitchen needs.)

It scares you, how easily you could give up this crusade. So you pull the mask over your face, breathe in the darkness, tell her she shouldn’t fall in love with you. As you walk away, some small, quiet part of you hopes she won’t listen to you.

She does.

i.

And the first time, the first time you give a name to this pressure within your chest - ( _love love love this is love_ you think over and over as you drown in her eyes and sink into her skin) -

Everything is red.

She’s a thunderstorm in a crimson dress, teeth glittering like lightning, fingers searing your skin as she carves pieces of herself onto your soul, and your world is already on fire, but the way she burns beneath your hands is something wild, something new. She pulls you apart, slowly, dissecting the dark spaces within you, turning each one over in her hands. She smiles while she does it, because your insides mirror hers.

(You smile too, because when you’re with her, the shadows lurking at your edges feel less like strangers and more like friends.)

You never say the words, even when she’s lying in your arms, her body already going cold. You can smell the red every time you take a breath, and you wonder if your unspoken confession is a stain that will never come out.

( _It was worth it._ )


End file.
